


Love is a Much More Vicious Motivator

by twotwentyonepatchproblem



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twotwentyonepatchproblem/pseuds/twotwentyonepatchproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A fanfic written for the lovely counterintuitivefangirl! </p>
<p>It's a work in progress, but here's the first chapter.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fanfic written for the lovely counterintuitivefangirl! 
> 
> It's a work in progress, but here's the first chapter.

"I said, can you pass me a pen?"   
Upon hearing his room mate's voice, John paused for a moment in the doorway, then chuffed angrily and threw his coat over the back of his chair before tossing Sherlock a pen.   
"Do you even bother paying attention to anything I tell you? Such as the fact that I had a date tonight and wouldn't be home til late? Or does it just go through one ear and out the other?" John asked as he put the kettle on, not entirely expecting an answer.   
"Of course I do." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up from his fervent scribbling. "I knew of your plans before you even told me, thanks to those atrocious shoes you insist on wearing around a woman."   
"What do you mean? What's wrong with my shoes?" John frowned, then shook his head and sighed. Arguing with Sherlock was completely useless; he'd better change the subject before Sherlock could answer. "A new case, then?"  
Sherlock "mm"ed and nodded his head in confirmation. "A woman swears the man who came home to her last night is not her husband. She's right, I'm afraid. Now, I just need to figure out..." Sherlock trailed off as he shuffled some papers around, tilting a few of them at different angles before putting them down again. "...why." He finished, sounding distant.   
"Husband was guilty of something, maybe? Tried to escape without anyone noticing?" John mused as he waited for the water to boil.   
"I haven't the faintest, John." Came the bewildered reply. Sherlock scowled in annoyance as he began shuffling through the papers again.   
John shut off the stove and poured the boiling water into two tea mugs, one for him and one for his (currently moody) flat mate. Then again, in the six months John had spent with Sherlock, when was he not moody? The only thing that seemed to ever elevate Sherlock's mood was a serial killer, or triple nicotine patches. John smiled wryly at the thought as he set one of the mugs down in front of sherlock, then sank into his chair with his own mug held tightly in his hands. Sherlock glanced up at him.   
"What are you smiling about?"   
"Oh, nothing."   
The silence began to stretch between them. John looked around the flat, taking note of the various dishes and clothes he'd have to pick up (eventually). Finally, his gaze settled back on his flatmate. John cleared his throat.  
"Sarah and I both think you need...someone in your life."   
"What are you talking about? I've got you, and Mrs. Hudson. Why would I need anyone else?" Sherlock argued stubbornly, refusing to look up from his work.   
"Oh don't act like that, Sherlock. You know what I mean." John almost pleaded. He hated things like this, but Sarah had insisted...  
Sherlock paused for a moment, then set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, placing his fingers under his chin in his usual steeple-like fashion before drawing them up in front of his lips.   
"Oh, I see." He smirked. "You think I need a girlfriend, a woman to shower with affection and attention." His words were simply drowning in sarcasm.   
"Well, think about it, Sherlock. I mean, you sit here, day after day, spending all your time looking at murder victims or cases that need solving...you need someone you can spend time with, time that doesn't involve work."   
Sherlock sighed impatiently and ran a hand through his dark curls.   
"John, I told you I'm married to my work; I don't need anyone else. Especially not someone who would just get in the way." Sherlock sipped his tea with a far-off look.   
John had to force himself to keep from rolling his eyes at Sherlock's melodrama.   
"But what if, and I'm just saying what if, I marry Sarah? Hm? We're bloody well not gonna stay here, and you'll be on your own."  
"Why are you so persistent about it all of a sudden, John? You're not usually so pushy." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, looking as innocently confused as possible.  
"Because I care, Sherlock." John, clearly frustrated, set his cup down just so he could emphasize "care" by throwing his hands up in exasperation. "It's something friends do."   
And god knows he did; Sherlock was one of John's closest friends. He probably knew John better than John knew himself, and John would trust him with anything. But he could be so damn difficult.   
Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.   
"Your concern is highly unnecessary, John. You're a soldier, for God's sake; get a hold of yourself."   
His train of thought was suddenly derailed by Sherlock's blunt dismissal. John stared at him in disbelief for a few moments, before angrily clearing his throat and snatching his cup from it's place on the table and storming into the kitchen.   
"You're right, Sherlock. I don't know why I even bother with you."   
Sherlock raised an eyebrow in mock surprise as he turned to watch John.  
"Oh, I'm right? How highly unusual."   
"Oh shut up, Sherlock! Christ, I can't even express genuine friendship towards you without getting insulted. You know what? I don't care anymore! Go ahead and die alone, it doesn't mean anything to me!"   
John stomped over to grab his jacket, planning to leave the flat, but paused when Sherlock murmured John's name.   
"What now?" He snapped.   
A split second later, in a burst of movement and agility, Sherlock was standing mere inches away from John, looking down at him with curiosity.   
"Sherlock, I'm going to Sarah's, I'll-"  
John was abruptly interrupted as Sherlock lightly placed one hand on John's neck and the other just under his jaw. Before John could even piece a coherent thought together, Sherlock tilted John's face up towards his and kissed him so gently and attentively that John felt his entire body jolt involuntarily. His breath caught in his throat as the man kissing him slid his hands down from John's neck to his chest, where long fingers nimbly began unbuttoning John's shirt.  
But the kiss ended as quickly as it had started, as Sherlock pulled away momentarily to study John.   
"Sh...Sherlock.." John's lips felt numb, and the hunger in his flatmate's eyes gave John chills. "What're you doing?"   
Sherlock placed his hands back on John's neck, using his thumbs to once more angle John's face upwards. His eyes gazed into John's until, slowly, he moved his gaze down towards John's waistline and back up, as if to absorb every detail. John shivered slightly.   
Sherlock parted his lips to inhale and leaned towards John as if to kiss him again. John stood completely still, his skin quivering in anticipation, silently begging the man to either kiss him or step back, but please don't torment him like this...  
Unable to stand it, John reached up to knot his fingers in Sherlock's curls and kiss him (oh god he wanted to kiss him, he wanted it more than anything) but was quickly shoved back against the wall, his body pinned by Sherlock's.   
John instinctively knotted his fingers even deeper into Sherlock's hair, his heart pounding. He could feel it beat in sync with Sherlock's, reverberating through his chest.   
Sherlock brushed his lips against John's neck.   
"You're not going to Sarah's tonight."   
The deep bass in Sherlock's husky voice made John's knees weak, and his tongue ran itself lightly across his lower lip... What was happening? The man in front of him was nothing like the Sherlock he knew...   
The man.   
"What..the...hell, Sherlock?!"   
John pushed Sherlock away from him, and stood with clenched fists.  
"What in God's name are you doing?!"   
Sherlock raised his eyebrows in a perplexed expression.   
"Confirming my suspicions. What else would I be doing?"   
"Your... I'm sorry, your suspicions? What bloody suspicions?" John's pulse thundered in his ears.   
Sherlock combed his hair with his fingers and straightened his collar.  
"You don't want me to find someone else in my life. You want to BE that someone. Obvious." Sherlock scoffed as he threw himself back into his chair.  
"How dare you." John growled. "How dare you flatter yourself like that! You know I love Sarah, in fact I've never been happier! And even if I was gay, WHICH I'M NOT, I wouldn't have the slightest interest in a manipulative, miserable, self-centered lout like you! Don't text me, I won't reply."   
John snatched his coat up off the chair, and stormed out of the flat. 


	2. Chapter 2

     Twenty-five minutes later, Sarah opened the door of her flat to find a very disgruntled John standing before her. 

"John? What's the matter?"

John stepped forward enough to close the distance between them and kissed her roughly, almost desperately. They stood there for a moment, John's arms holding Sarah tight, before John broke away and looked at her as though begging for some unknown answer. 

"Is everything okay?" Her lips throbbed slightly from his kiss. 

He stared at her a moment longer, then shut his eyes tight and scratched the back of his head, one hand on his hip.

"Yeah, everything's fine, just... Sherlock's being an idiot, that's all." He forced himself to smile. "Is it alright if I spend the night here?"

Sarah shrugged. 

"Sure, I guess. But are you sure everything's alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's no big deal. It just gets a bit lonely in the flat. I've got no one there to have a bit of fun with..."

Sarah giggled as John pulled her close and kissed her neck teasingly. She was so soft under his touch, so easily excited... and she wasn't who John was thinking about. Throughout the night, up until John finally fell asleep as dawn began to break, it took all his willpower to resist checking his phone for a text he somehow knew would never come.

 

☕︎

 

"MRS. HUDSON!"

Sherlock's roar thundered throughout the building, startling the poor landlady, and the cat that lived two flats above. Moments later, Mrs. Hudson reached the top of the staircase and rushed into 221B. 

"What on earth is the matter, Sherlock?!"

Sherlock, who had been sitting cross-legged in his chair with his silk robe draped around him, threw his paper across the room, where it landed at Mrs. Hudson's feet.

"Read the article on page 5."

"Really, Sherlock, I don't-"

"A man's life is in danger, I need you to read the article."

Mumbling under her breath about the countless times she'd heard that before, Mrs. Hudson picked up the paper and began reading while Sherlock tapped his fingers together impatiently. After a few minutes had passed, he asked "so?".

"Well, I don't see anything strange about it, Sherlock."

Sherlock blinked in disbelief. 

"What... did you even read the article?! That's the most absurd cover story I've ever had the misfortune of discovering!"

"How would I know it's a cover story? This is what you have John for, not me. Ask him to read it. Speaking of which, where is he? I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"He's at a woman's house." Sherlock muttered as he got up to retrieve the paper. 

"A woman's house? Are you in an open relationship? I won't judge, Sherlock, but I hope you two have discussed this. Open relationships can be very tricky. The late Mr. Hudson and I once-"

"Don't you have landladying to attend to?" Sherlock smiled thinly and pushed Mrs. Hudson into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. He then scowled and looked around the room for something to talk with. Unfortunately, the one thing he truly needed to bounce ideas off of was John. And John wasn't there. 

Sherlock sighed and snatched up his skull from the mantel before dropping back into his chair. He held the skull at arm's length and stared at it intently. 

"A man leaves his wife at 7 p.m. Monday night. A man who the wife has never met before shows up 9 hours later..."


End file.
